Fraid of the Big Bad Voodoo Man
by Zoe Mae Rae
Summary: OC and Dr. Facilier. Leora runs away from home to become a tattoo artist. May get Mary-Sueish Her business slow, and cash tight she finds work in a Voodoo Emporium . . . Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Opening my own tattoo parlor, that's rough. I've saved up my own money. Without the help of my parent's wealth. All my own. The thought makes me giddy beyond belief. But on my own, I need another job to keep my dream realized. So here I am in a "Voodoo Emporium" looking for work.

"So Miss . . . what did you say your name was?"  
The "doctor" looks up at me from the sheet; my resume on the table, and gives me a bored look.

"Leora Freidman."

"I see. So you've opened that tattoo place down the street?"

"I have."

His dark eyes give me a questioning look. "Meaning you already have a job."

I nod. "Yes."

"And why would you need more work?"

"Well, I can only get by with so much from keeping the shop and uh, money is tight."

"Opening on your own?"

"Yes. I need living expenses. Supplies for tattoos aren't cheap."

Dr. Facillier sighs. "Norm'ly I would have told you hell naw, but since I sympathize and 'm so desperate for an assistant, you've got the job."

A mountain has been lifted off my shoulders and I grin ear to ear, much like a child. "Oh heavens, thank you so much! When do I start?"

He leans back in his chair and thinks a moment with his huge feet on the table. "You can start now by organizin' the books o'er there. They ain't in the right way."  
"Yessur!" I hop up from my chair and descend toward the massive pile of books.

"I didn't quite realize how small you are. Are your parents bo-"

"No. They weren't midgets. I'm just small boned. Very small."

He shrugs. "You get that a lot?"

"I do. Doesn't help that I'm a ginger either."

"Wuzzat?"

I shuffle through the books. "Oh you know, red hair and fair skin. Freckles sometimes, you kinda look orange all over. So people call it bein' a Ginger."

"I see." He gets up and strides to the door. "I'll be upstairs. Don't bother me. Oh and if you finish those books before 12 try and start scrubbing that stain. Cleanin' stuffs in the kitchen through that door."

He leaves and I'm left to my own with my annoying thoughts. It hits me that I just got a job. In a voodoo emporium. And my boss is dead sexy. Wait! No! NO! Yes- He's sexy. That's so wrong! He's my boss!


	2. Chapter 2

Stain cleaned, it's 12:20. As I prepare to leave Facilier come back downstairs.

"Wha- girl what are you doin' here still?" He looks bewildered.

"I got the stain up pretty far. I just couldn't leave it there. Leavin' now though."  
I open the purple door and step out into the brisk air. The moon smiles down, nested in a black velvet sky. It's a beautiful night, but not safe. Thankfully, the shop's just down the street.

The door slams behind me as the corner takes it's turn. "Wait Leora- lemme walk you home."

My feet move a little faster now. "No thanks."

Something cold grabs my shoulder and whips it around. Dr. Facilier stands at the corner, several feet away from me. But his shadow is right there, leaning on mine. It smirks when I jump back in utter shock.

"What the hell?! Ohmaigawd what is that? What just-" Suddenly, primitive instincts slam in and my feet run, almost soaring, to my shop. I stumble, cutting open my shins on the cobblestones. It drips warm, a stark contrast against the chill of the night.

"Wait! Get back here!" He shouts down the street.

A cold thing, like a snake wraps around my ankle, causing me to fall again. The shadow picks me up and drags me by the wrist to Dr. Facilier. Hot tears stream into my mouth and the salt stings the new scrapes on my cheek.

"Stop!" I sob, almost incoherently


	3. Chapter 3

"Let go of her now." He picks me up in the same manner as the- the- thing, for lack of better word. "I'm going to walk you home, and my shadow will be good if you promise to behave as well."

"Fine, fine whatever."

Dr. Facilier wraps his arm around mine and steers us in the direction of my shop. Our steps are the only noise in the dark, the same clop on the tile over and over again. Immersed in fright, the sound is maddening, it goes on forever and the door seems to grow further. Each step sends another river of cold sweat down my back.

Finally, the door is reachable and I feel safe. From my dress I pull a set of keys, and fumble with them until I find the right one. He never lets go of my arm. He still holds on when I open the door. He still holds on when I light the lamp.

"Are you going to let me go? I can- I believe- take care of myself in my own home."

Silently, he releases his death grip and closes the door behind him.

"It truly is not safe to be alone outside in this neighborhood at night," I cross my arms feeling already where this little speech of his is going. He invites himself to sit down in my waiting room. "Especially for such small woman-"

"Shut the FUCK up! Don't you dare pull that lady shit on me!" I pull my skirt up to my thigh. "See this? It's a gun. I. can. Fucking. Take. care. Of. Myself. Don't you dare." I snarl.

He grimaces. "I don't have control of my shadow. He sometimes, takes my emotional cues, to the extreme. Not my fault, so put the damn weapon away."

I let go of my skirt but keep my glare on him. "So, why didn't you shoot me." He smirks.

"Instinct said to run. And that- your shadow- It scares me. Very much."


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Facilier has left. My shop is quiet, and in everything is in place. There's finally time for me to think, but I don't want to. He came in here and babbled in that smooth voice that slinks across the air and slides effortlessly into your ear about his shadow and voodoo for an hour. It's a lot to absorb, working for evil without realizing it. I won't go back.

Upstairs the warm bath overflows. The best thing I can do now is turn the water off, get in, and think about nothing. Absolute fluff.

Enveloped in warmth and darkness, my sleep is interrupted by a harsh knocking at my door. My body aches and my mind feels numb. Quickly, I roll onto the floor, throw on a robe and race to the door. The brass knob is freezing, a bitter taste of what lies just outside the door.

Outside in the chilled winter air, stands the Monster. Dr. Facilier. His frame against the muted colors of the shops outside is such a stark contrast, his clothing so bright and festive. He smiles at me quizzically and my mouth drops slightly in shock as the memories flood back from where they were hiding.

"Just what are you doing asleep?" His shadow lurches forward haphazardly, exasperated.

I clutch the robe to my throat. "I quit. I thought you would understand when I never showed up today." "Well I didn't, now did I?" He looks down at me in disapproval, lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

"I'm sorry for your inconvenience." I step back behind the door and start to close it, but all too quickly, he thrusts his dark, polished cane in the port.

"And just what do you think you're doing 'chere?" The shadow grabs the back of my neck and forces me out.

"I could ask you the same thing! Unhand me!"  
"Don't make a scene darlin." He snarls "You signed a contract."

He holds out a hand and a crisp piece of paper that materializes in it. The paper I wrote my name on . . . agreeing to terms of work . . . that I didn't read through.

"Lemme see that!" I snatch the contract from his rough brown hands.

"I _Leora Friedman_ hereby state that I agree to the terms of practice stated below by my future employer, DR. FACILIER. {One year's time.} I will follow them unconditionally and know that if I deviate from DR. FACILIER's orders I will be punished accordingly, death by black magic and my soul will be donated for use."

Signed

X_Leora A. Friedman_

_

"What did I just agree to?" Shocked out of my wits, the contract floats to the ground and my knees buckle. A sharp laugh butts out of my mouth. "Magic isn't real! Hahahah! This is a joke! Hahahahaa who put you up to this?"

Dr. Facilier pushes my knees together with his cane. They were thrown outward when I sat, and I didn't think twice about it. "Indecent . . ." he mutters and the shadow hands him the contract.

"What you signed here, is not a joke. It is real, more real than it should be." He smirks "you're almost my servant now daaarlin'." He lets the last word tumble from his tongue seductively.

"FUCK!" I yell at the top of my lungs. His smirk grows. "No thanks, not now. I suggest you go inside and get your ass ready for work."

Dr. Facilier tips his hat with a grave look, turns on his heel and disappears around the corner. "Fuck." I mutter underneath my breath.

At the entrance of the emporium, in a clean rough black dress, I pause. It's impossible to walk through that door. . .

*Creaaak* The door opens on it's own and a force pushes me inside, I stumble and fall on the tattered carpet. "Ooof!" Incense and musk fills my nose.

"Are you ok? I knew you wouldn't do it on your own." His voice a contradiction, strong and rough, but underneath smooth like silk. Dr. Facilier holds out a coarse hand for me to take.

His eyes are so vibrant purple in the dark, and as much as I want to, I can't look away. He takes his hand away sharply. "Follow me." He walks up a winding iron staircase, feet clanking.

The walls are covered in an assortment of dangerous and ominous items. Draped cloth, masks, voodoo dolls, symbols, necklaces, amulets ect.

Upstairs it is the same way, but a little neater. Off to one side there is a red door, cracked slightly. Through it is a purple bed with thick red drapes. On the opposite side is a wash room. Ahead of us it a little closet.

"Do you know how to make yarn dolls?" he asks me over his shoulder. He's taken his hat off and for the first time I glimpse his hair. It's a huge poof of dark brown curls and tangles.

"Uh-hu" I manage.

He hands me a ball of black yarn. "Show me."

I sit down where I stand and kick of a shoe. I tie a loop; slip it over my toe and start winding. Dr. Facilier looks down at me, confused.

"It's easier with both hands." He nods and leans against a wall.

In twenty minutes, she's finished. Carefully and painstaking, it's worth it to have a doll look so perfect. I hand it to him and he looks over it with gentle curiosity.

"Good. Go into my room," he points to the red door "and get my scissors out of the top drawer of the night stand." "Yes doctor."

Inside his room, my thoughts wander to his bed. They make my eyes caress every detail, every funny stain and fold. They go taboo- and it must stop! I force myself to think of something pure. Sooomething . . . sheep! Sheep, they're white and . . . sex. No! Small children with their sticky hands. . . What's wrong with me? It's not like I've never seen a bed before. But I want to be in his . . .

In his drawer are a variety of blush-worthy things, namely the picture of a woman spread eagled on a . . . A year will be long, I think in dismay. I rush out of his room and kick the door closed once my hand comes in contact with the scissors. My face is flush and I push my thoughts away.

"I gotta 'em." He takes my face in for a moment and cracks up.

"I forgot that was in there! Ahahaha! You look like you never seen-" His expression change from delight to curiosity "Oh, you've never seen anything like that have you?"

I shake my head, wide eyed. "No. I wish I'd have kept it that way.'

He shakes his head, amused again. "I'm sorry chere' C'om'ere. I've got something to show you."

He better keep those damn pants on or I'll shoot him.

Dr. Facilier takes the scissors and snips the loops of the dolls arms in half. "You take their arms and braid them, see like so," he divides the doll's arm in three pieces, braids it, rips a piece of yarn of the ball, and ties it off. "Now you have her hands, see?"

"Yes, I see." He hands me the doll and the scissors. "Your turn Leora."

I make a messy interpretation of what he's done. "Tighter on the braids, ok? Now you take . . .

It's 3oo in the morning when I finish the pile of dolls. When we had finished practicing he handed me 4 balls of yarn and sent me to work making part of a voodoo kit that sells well to tourists.

They look innocent enough, yet he tells me that any negative thoughts while making the doll could turn it unnecessarily evil. This was, subtly and diabolically evil, because now, I can only think awful things. That bastard. I hate this joke he's played on me, having me send bad karma to wayward strangers.

Speak of the devil, I finish the third bundle and he strides into the backroom adjacent to the showroom, whistling. "You should have gone home already darlin'."

"You told me to finish the dolls. All four of the bundles."

He pulls me up by the arm into a standing position. I'm so close to him for once and I'm so intoxicated by the way he smells, his rough skin, the warmth of his body. It's tempting to lean into him and put my arms around his neck, and for a moment I'm almost convinced to. Wrong. It'd be so wrong.

He lets go. "Are you ok? Leora, you don't look right." Dr. Facilier's brow wrinkles.

My body wavers. "I'm ok."

"No you're not. You need sleep." He grabs my waist from behind and pushes me to the door. "I can't have my employees sick."

Employee . . . that word . . . it has hollow meaning. He doesn't want me.

Again, the walk home is slow and never ending. The sky is still velvety black, like a sheet. It's so cold, but I have weak protection from the winter. He notices and, wordlessly places his coat on my shoulders.

I hide a smile. Once at the door, I hand him the coat and smile assumingly at him. "I'll be ok."

He lifts my chin up at him and gives me a stern look. "You better be ok tomorrow." His eyes are like stones, so distracting. I barely notice him kissing my forehead until his eyes are out of my view.

I spin around and head inside as quickly as possible to hide my blush. "Good night."


	5. Chapter 5

I was almost ready for work. I was slipping into another rough cotton dress, and as the dress scraped against my nose, filling it with a soft perfume I heard a knock at the door. It was a frantic knock, unlike that lazy, nervous one of a customer. I didn't have any appointments, and Dr. Facilier didn't want me there for another twenty minutes. Manners said go; but my instinct held my feet firm.

'Wait.' It said. 'Just wait. Everything will be okay, trust me'

I can't wait. I'm too curious. I pull the dress down and force myself to silently walk down the hall to peer out of the stained eye- piece in my door. My skin prickles and my hair rises up on end as I recognize the knocker.

She's blonde, and chubby with dulled green eyes and a stained, stretched pink dress. As she slams her fist on the door, the sagging fat on her arm flings back and forth dangerously.

"Leora! Are you in there? I know you're here. Get the fuck out now!"

It's my sister. I can't believe she's found me here. My mouth goes dry and I slide down to my knees. It's Sarah. Sarah . . . that word carries so much meaning.

Calmly, silently, I walk to the back of my apartment, open the window, and slide out. I force the panic down and press the window back down. I take the back route to the emporium. 'Don't think about it. Just don't think. Don't. You'll cry. Tears are weakness. Tears are weakness.' I tell myself.

But I can't push it down. I remember the last conversation with my family, about four years ago. I told my two parents and my sister about wanting to have some freedom, asking to get an education, to learn a skill.

My mother laughed, her green eyes crinkling and her large white teeth glinting. She stopped to wipe away her stray mascara and fix her perfect wheat- blonde finger curls.

"Dear, you must be joking, really! You're a woman, you don't need to work! You just need to sit right, look pretty, and talk dumb. We'll have a man for you in no time and he'll be perfectly able to take care of you! Is it that you don't have a big enough allowance? Once you're married, you can barter with him for more." She winks at me, smudging still- wet mascara on her cheek, right under her eye.

"Why are you so intent on working?" My dad looks up at me quizzically from his book.

We argued for hours. I screamed at them, and they screamed back, refusing to budge. They ended up dragging me, with the help of five servants, kicking and screaming into my room. The door was bolted shut.

I left early in the morning, sneaking out of the window of our beautiful plantation home. The air was humid, but cold, a typical Florida morning. The sky was peach colored, and as I thumped unto the ground, I was almost alone, with just my necessary possessions. But I could feel the presence of them sleeping inside. And then I ran.

And I've been doing it ever since.

My barefeet slapped against the cold ground. Soon I could see the back door, a crusty green, warped piece of wood. I barreled through the door, knocking over some books in the process.

"Hey! What's going on?" The Doctor parts his way through a beaded curtain. "What are you huffin' and a puffin' for? And why'd you come in through the back door . . ?"

"I'm . . . being . . ." I take a moment to breathe. "Someone found me . . . I've been in hiding . . . for a while . . ."

He slides behind me and shuts the squeaky door.

"Oh." His face is scrunched in confusion. "You kill someone?" He raises a thin black eyebrow at me.

"I only wish."

Bottom of Form


	6. Chapter 6

I slowly gather my senses about me. It's the evening, maybe. Everything is so dark. All I can hear is the sound of people muttering nearby. My eyes start to adjust to the darkness and find myself on a dark purple couch, my head propped up on one arm, and my left foot on the other. My right foot has slid off and dangles over the edge of the love- seat. There is a black sheet tacked to the ceiling obstructs my view.

I pull the sheet back slightly and I realize where I am. I'm on the dusty purple love- seat that hides in a corner next to a green book shelf. From my spot in the room I can see The Doctor's card table. It's draped with fabrics, surrounded by three rickety wooden chairs. In two of the chairs sits the Doctor and a chubby young woman. She's quietly sobbing as she tells her tale. I listen to her in curiosity; the poor miserable girl is pregnant and alone. I'd hate to be in her shoes . . .

Suddenly, why I'm here comes to light. My sister found me, and I escaped confrontation by sliding out of the back window of my apartment. I passed out when I made it inside. Facilier must have dumped me off onto this couch so he could work. My problems seem petty compared to hers. Soon, the poor naive sucker will be sucked up and eaten by demons.

After she is, I slide from behind the curtain.

"Doctor?"

He looks up from underneath his cards, surprised. "Oh- you're awake."

"I'm sorry sir. That was completely uncalled for."

He leans back in his chair, and props his legs up on the table. His scrunches his face at me in a intrigued expression.

"You care to explain?"

I sigh and take a chair across the table from him. "Not really. I'm sure you could use it against me, and will." He shuffles the cards and then deals 8 out, facedown.

He snorts, stifling laughter. "Well, I don't even care." He flips the cards up in one sweeping motion. "But the cards tell me I should give you shelter and aid." He slides the cards to me. I don't bother to look because I know I won't e able to decipher the meaning of the card. I hunch forward and sigh loudly

"You're not gonna' fire me, are you?"

"Nope."

"I'd be so lucky." Semi- disappointed, I lean back in my chair and clasp my hands in my lap.

He uncrosses and re-crosses his legs. "You can trust me- I mean you can tell me what's botherin' you honey." He raises his eyebrows expectant; shuffling away at his cards.

I smirk. "I don't trust you."

It's his turn to be disappointed, he puts the cards down in a neat pile; knowing all to well that there's no way I'll fall for a few- albeit deadly- parlor tricks.

"I feel like I trust you a little more without those cards." I give him a small smile, feeling guilty. Doctor Facilier leans forward and rests his arms on the table.

"I'm quite embarrassed about how I got here, Doctor, in this situation."

He nods. "Life ain't easy."

"I come from a very, very rich family. We've got cotton plantations in North Florida-"

The doctor cuts me off in midsentence, "And you're a runaway lookin' to make her own?"

His answer startles me. "Uh, yes"

"You're too independent to get hitched- too young to waste so many opportunities." He drawls in his deep, seductive voice.

"And you're really good at that."

He smiles. "It's in the job description."

I look around me, taking in my surroundings. What he says bring me back to reality, out of the daze. I have a job to do. Damn everything.

"Speaking of which . . ."

It's 9:00 again, and I've finished making every little trinket and cleaning every surface. I don't want to leave, not with Sara here. I can't go home. But I know I have to, so I put gather myself and slip out of the back door.

The sun has set, and the street is light up by the warm light coming from the windows. It helps lift a bit of the seedy presence of the neighborhood. I walk in to a nearby park, it feels safe during the day- but as soon as I get there I realize that it's not my place. The small park is home to a few homeless men who're settling down for the night.

I continue walking, aimlessly now, just to fill the night up. New Orleans in the night is beautiful. Alone, there's time to admire the beautiful cultural mix of the architecture. I find myself in a residential area, filled with rows and rows of houses- no- homes, filled with families. I miss mine.

Some days I wish I could erase the past four years and go back to the comfort of my own home, my old life. I never knew how good I had it. Maybe one day, I'll have a new home like that. Maybe I can have a new family. I can never go back to my old one.


	7. Chapter 7

At 3:00 I go back to my home, circling the perimeter anxiously, making sure no one is on my tail, or waiting for me. I slide back in through my window. My place is definitely a sight for sore eyes. I say a small prayer of thanks; nothing is changed from the way I left it. After that, the first thing I do is take a nap. I try to eat afterwards, but I'm too nervous, and it just comes back up. I bathe and change and it's morning already. My anxiety is insane, giving me hot and cold flashes and making me sweat like a dog.

I don't know how I'll get through the day- I have clients booked. People who want permanent art on their bodies, people who expect their artist to have a steady hand. My hands are having their own private seizures, thrashing about wildly, much to my disdain. For once, I have a client, a man from the nicer part of town. I can't afford to lose his kind of clientele.

My only option is to draw a cold bath, and dunk my head in. I figure that if it works for hangovers, why not anxiety? The cold water wakes me up and makes my nerves tingle pleasantly. I fix my hair and face so I can open shop. Who was I kidding? I've only one client.

It's been two weeks since I've had a client, so the place is covered in dust. At least it's a small space. My client comes in early, so I have less time than I would've liked to clean. The man is very handsome, tall and lean, with dark curly locks of hair and a face that only God could've carved. I turn redder than normal, embarrassed by my mess. He smiles when he comes in, revealing handsome teeth, and a handsome name: Horace Bigsby.

Despite the fact that he gets half naked, and I get to stare at his beautiful body for hours, I can't keep my mind off of my other job, and especially, my boss. As I tattoo his stone- hard stomach, I can't help but compare his to the Doctor's, he doesn't have a thin line of hair running down his navel, and he doesn't exude sexual power or confidence like the Doctor.

Sooner than I know, Mr. Bigsby's tattoo is finished; Its a beautiful mermaid, with an emerald green tail that wraps around his belly button. We make bare, shallow, yet pleasant small talk, and he invites me to a gathering he's having later on. I can't imagine why. Men of status usually try not to be seen with ladies with professions. Even though that bothers me, I agree to go, and he promises to send a car.

I just wear a plain black dress, I don't really care to impress others, its a surprise I leave my home to begin with. I know that I'll feel under- dressed, and anxious to leave. It's a good plan, because I have work in the morning, with the doctor, of course.

Mr. Bigsby lives in a plantation style home, similar in design to the one I grew up in. My heart aches at the sight of all the fineries, the satin curtains, and the marble floors make me homesick- which is very ironic- because after sitting in his living room, refining the art of being a wallflower, I see a flash of someone quite frightening through the crowd. I stand up with a shock and quietly as I can, dash for an exit. Yet, as I round a corner, Mr. Bisgby appears, and grabs me by the waist. "My dear, new friend, I have yet to receive you properly."

"Oh, that's fine, I was just heading out; I'm not really a social butterfly. I think I'm more suited to watch from afar, and well, people are a little put out by that sort of thing."

He chuckles. "Neither am I, to be honest, but when a man is thrust into a life that makes one's monetary dependency depend itself on society's liking pf him, he learns to deal with it. I thought that by inviting you, I'd have a kindred spirit around. Also, I think if you spoke to some of my friends, you'd gain some well- to- do clientele."

I am shocked by his statements- I didn't think he'd be so smart, yet he is. I honestly can't think of anything to say to him.

"He pulls me with him to another noisy room. "To be honest, my parents are marrying me off to some beast that I hardly know or that matter. I'd like you to meet her- she has a phobia of tattoos so she's the reason you'll be seeing me more often now."

I giggle, and he leads me by my elbow to a group standing 'round a fire place. He pushes through and pulls me in. "Where is my dear fiancé? I have a friend I'd love her to meet. She's the girl who did my tattoo." He pulls his shirt up to show his friends, a group of men who laugh at the sight of it. One man with a scraggly beard claps him on the back and says, "You're crazy, Horace. The woman's going to tear you apart"

"Good!" He replies, "Then I won't have to live another day in her presence." His friends laugh harder, and another man leaves too fetch her. I watch Horace interact with his friends, and show off his piece. He keeps a hand on me and makes sure to smile reassuringly, and keep me in the conversation. What a nice man. He looks over my shoulder and his whole persona droops.

"Ah, dear friend, my fiancé approaches," He turns to me to her and my heart drops. "Meet Sarah."


	8. Chapter 8

Again- I run. The cycle of my life consists mainly of running- From my life, my future, my family. I can't help myself as I blindly crash into other guests and valuables. It's disorienting, and for a moment- I'm lost in the crowd. My chest constricts and I get dizzy, but I can't stop running. There's a door ahead, I must reach it. I don't stop to look behind me for to see if I'm being chased, but I run like there's a mountain lion tracking me down.

The marble vanishes from underneath my feet and is replaced with soft grass that gets kicked up and torn as I tumble along blindly. Uncertain safety is mine. I run and run and run until I've cleared a couple of blocks and I'm out of breath. Exhausted, I sit down in the street for a moment

Earlier, Sarah looked as if should would've killed me. She breathed one word- my name- her whole body becoming a muddled red blob. She and I stared at each other for one long moment. I felt small. I felt scared. My reality shrunk. She made me feel so trapped. I shake my head, disappointed, as I get up. Brushing myself off, I try to distract myself with something else like the sound of a distant restaurant or the cobbled road. But I can't.

Our encounter means several things. Horace is never going to come back to my shop. That's money lost. Sarah's going to stalk me even more, now that she knows for certain that I'm in the city. That also means she's going to get our parents out here. Just the thought of it sounds so juvenile. She's always been at kind of person though.

She's always wanted me to suffer, always been the one to push me the hardest to conform. I don't think it was ever out of jealousy, but a deep seated, pure, constant miserable state. Sarah just feels the need to share it with others.

She'll bring my parents here. Inside I feel the urge to pack up and run again, but the cost is too great- I give up my dreams, I give up my shop. That just can't happen. Yet, what happens when they come for me? Will they yank me up like a weed, right from the root? If I go I lose myself. If I stay, I cannot predict the out come. I'm torn, between what it is that I so badly want, and my instinct.

At first I am afraid to go home, but I do, because, where the hell else am I going go. I have no real friends in the city. I know a grocer. I have clients that I speak to on occasion. I have my boss.

I open the door tentatively, and tip toe my way through until I'm certain that I am alone. I lay down face first into my bed and cry. I am thoroughly irritated at myself for being so indecisive and weak. Shouldn't I know that I know what I know?

The soft blankets call to me gently, and wrap around my body with ease. They soothe my soul and lull me into a sleepy state. I kick off my shoes and do the rational thing, sleep.


End file.
